


Flowers For My Love

by steelneena



Series: CR 2 Oneshots and Short Series [25]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Oneshot, Warnings for everything associated with hanahaki, but happy endings because yeah, coughing up petals and shit, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: Caduceus knows that his wants are second to what the Mother requires of him. He just wishes that he didn't feel so very much, sometimes.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Series: CR 2 Oneshots and Short Series [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1280990
Comments: 13
Kudos: 204





	Flowers For My Love

**Author's Note:**

> Super inspired by this gorgeous art: https://smoggish.tumblr.com/post/189698128852/hanahaki-aus-are-my-jam-this-is-for-a-trade

Really, he’s been waiting to go home. _Really_. He’s happy that he’s finally able to return, that he’d fulfilled the expectations of the Mother, that her designs for him have come to fruition, that he’s needed at the Blooming Grove once more. And he’s overjoyed too, that he was able to help bring back Mollymauk to the rest of his friends, that it has all coincided all at once.

So really, Caduceus is okay with going home. _Really_.

He’s just got something in his eyes.

Jester clings to him, sobbing when he tells them his plan, but he’s calm, he’s made his peace with it. Caleb lays a hand on his shoulder, firmly, meets his eyes, where Beau hides hers, giving him a sharp nod in acknowledgement. Nott says some vaguely veiled things about promising to visit that do nothing to disguise her deep sadness. Molly, though they don’t know one another very well, also has a wobbling smile and glassy eyes.

He tells them not to feel bad.

(He hopes that they can’t tell that he’s also telling himself the same thing.)

Fjord claps his upper arm and pulls him into a hug, with a smile, before they all sit down to supper with one another. The entire time, it’s hard to meet their eyes. They’re dispersing to their rooms that evening when Jester implores him to let them take him home.

Of course, he knows that it’s not in the plan, so he only gives her a cryptic look and retires to his room as her lip wobbles again.

Fjord is already inside, taking off his armor, when Caduceus shuts to door.

“You know,” Fjord says after a while, working at the collar of his shirt. “We really mean it. You’re family to us, Caduceus. We _will_ be visiting.”

Caduceus unbuckles his chest plate, setting it aside. “You don’t have to pretend for me, Fjord. I know what your lives will continue to be like, what it’s been like since I joined all of you. I don’t expect anything, you know. I know you all care, and I know that life will be hectic. So you don’t have to promise me anything.”

For a moment, he thinks that Fjord will protest, but his face only falls and he folds the shirt gingerly, holding it for a prolonged period of time in his hands, staring at it with an odd weight. “You’re not wrong, of course, but…well, even if the others may find that they can’t come visit, _I_ will. You have been…Caduceus, I don’t know who I would be - _where_ I would be – if I hadn’t met you. You’ve completely changed my life. I will forever be grateful to you, and beyond that, you’re my friend. One of the truest I’ve ever had, and I will never take that for granted. I swear it.”

Despite the earnestness behind the words, despite the ache that he can hear in Fjord’s voice, Caduceus can’t manage a comforting smile for Fjord, even though that’s what he _does_. It’s always been what he does, and yet here, in this moment when he should be helping his dear friend, he can’t bring himself to provide that soothing presence.

“Thank you, Fjord,” is all he can bring himself to say.

“I mean it.” Fjord returns, looking up from the shirt. “I _mean it_.”

“I know you do.”

They don’t share any more conversation between them, and in the early hours of the morning, the dawn just breaking through the window and Fjord’s light breathes humming through the silence, Caduceus slips out of the room and out of the Inn to make his way back home.

He’s only just beyond the confines of the forest when the first spasm overtakes him and he pauses to lean up against a tree trunk, coughing violently into his hand. When he looks, a mess of pale green and white petals, speckled in the faintest droplets of blood lay limply in his hand.

Instantly, Caduceus’ heart sinks deep.

Melora’s judgement is upon him.

He’s heard of this affliction before, of course; most of the Mother’s followers learn of it sooner or later, he imagines, but why it’s manifesting itself _now_ of all possible times is beyond him, especially considering that it was _Her_ path that he was following, her instructions, her guidance.

 _Go home, My Clay_ , _where you are needed. Where you are missed. Come home to My sanctuary._

Clutching the petals in his hand, fingers curling around them loosely, he pushes himself back and continues on his way.

He would follow the will of the Mother. She knew what he didn’t, and he would find his peace with that just as he had with everything else that had befallen him.

It was just that, well, he hadn’t anticipated _this_.

(That was a lie. He should have. He’d listened to Fjord’s soft breaths for at least half an hour before forcing himself to leave the room, ran through every possible thing he could have done or said, and yet had done and said none of it.)

When the beautiful expanse of his home opens up before him, he forgets, for a moment, the flowers clutched in his hand. The spire of the temple rises up from between the trees, newly green and pink with leaves and blossoms and the whole world warms up around him. Through each successive, overgrown gate, he makes his familiar way, rests his hand on the first gravestone he reaches, thumbing at the crumbling, ancient stones.

It’s home.

Birds twitter in the air and bugs chirp and small, woodland creatures rustle under brush. No smoke rises from where the kitchen is, no bustling of people comes from within. The stone façade is cold and empty.

Caduceus is alone.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Caduceus allows himself to descend into tears.

He’s alone.

It’s doesn’t get any easier.

Not the being alone part, or the coughing up petals part. Firstly, they’re interconnected, and he knows it. More than ever, he wishes that he’d said something _anything_ to Fjord before leaving, but he _couldn’t_. It wouldn’t have been fair to confess, to explain how much he – to explain and then to leave anyways. That would have been a cruelty that Caduceus could never wish on anyone. No, he alone should bear the weight of this failure. Only he would have to suffer for it. And the longer he spent in the contemplation of it, the worse the coughing got. It is gradual of course; weeks pass before he really begins to notice that his breathing is laboured all of the time and not just before a coughing fit. And the petals – only a scant few to begin with, now come up in rather frightening numbers and in ever smaller growing increments. Once every other day has become two or three times a day, and he knows well that, before it’s over, he’ll be weak; unable to move, to speak, eventually, to breathe. He may suffocate before dying of blood loss, for all he knows.

But it’s the will of the Wildmother, and so he tends to the Grove as happily as he can, and finds that the small happiness, the earnest pleasure of helping things grow, is not mitigated by his impending end. He will become one with his home, and then, finally, he’ll never have to be alone again.

(But a part of him within is at war. Torn between hoping that they never come to visit him at all, or, that if they do, they come too late, and even more selfishly, that they come soon, so that he can see him again, one last time. So that he can see Fj-)

At least, he thinks in good conscious, he has more than enough time to prepare the place where he will find rest. Enough time to grow comfortable with it. A slow death is not what he’d come to anticipate for himself after many months with the Nein. No, he’d rather expected something of that rather more instantaneous nature.

He spends a whole week digging his own grave – it only takes that long because his lung capacity is growing weaker, as the roots thrive within him, choking out his life, glutting it from his body. He’s seen other plants that do similar things, ones that cling parasitically as vines about flowers, throttling them as they steal the nutrients meant for the bloom.

Life finds a way.

But death...death, eventually, always prevails.

~

 _“Something doesn’t feel right,”_ he’d told the group and that was, really, an understatement. But they were busy. Of course they were busy, saving the world, brokering peace – half the time he wanted to laugh in disbelief – and yet, hadn’t that been what Caduceus said?

 _I know that life will be hectic_.

So Fjord sets off on his own, after a lot – _a lot_ – of talk about the wisdom behind such a choice. After getting Molly back they’ve all been rather…protective of one another, have hardly gone off alone at all since then. A large part of Fjord rankles at that, and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that it all had to do with Caduceus.

Beau, of course, had argued that it was their friend’s choice to go without them, that he had made it more than clear what kind of a goodbye he wanted. That they should respect it. Fjord kept his thoughts to himself then, but the scent on the breeze, and the flashes of violent colour in his dreams and the internal tug that he just cannot ignore pushes him to action.

So he leaves, despite their protests, even if they all grudgingly agree that whatever it is, it’s probably Melora and she probably wants something from her rather green – ha, hardy, har – paladin that only he can provide.

His dreams, the scent of salt on the breeze, they carry him not to the ocean, but rather to a familiar landscape, and his nerves kick in the moment he realizes the road, the Run, the Grove.

Thrumming, pounding, his heart throbs for Caduceus.

(And _oh_ , he’d stuffed those feelings down deep when he woke up alone in the inn those many months ago. Caduceus and all his affects missing. Everything he’d decided to say that morning, every argument he’d come up with to entice Caduceus to rethink his position, blown out of the water, shock hitting like a blow to the stomach, and he’d had to sit back down on the bed when he realized, and viciously wiped away the tears. Because of course he’d been silly to think that Caduceus might love him. Might stay, if he asked.)

Heartbreak calloused over with twining vines and he moved on.

Well, he tries to, still, because those vines are writhing now, squeezing his heart vicelike, wondering, petrified, _why_ the Mother would so urgently, so frantically, push him to such an achingly familiar destination.

Fjord steps carefully through the woods, taking in the changes – and their have been many changes – to the beautiful, haunting locale. For all the sound of wind in the trees and local fauna rustling beneath the bushes, the place is more eerily silent than he recalls, and suddenly he’s moving faster, less cautiously, towards the beautiful temple that is Caduceus’ home.

When he hits the clearing, he breaks into a run. He’s not sure what prompts it, save that he suddenly is overcome with an urgency he can’t explain, pounding in time with his pulse, beating out Caduceus’ name.

He bursts through the door to the temple, and immediately sees, in a shaft of soft sunlight, filtered through one of the open air windows in the stonework, an unmoving figure.

“Caduceus!”

From the door, Fjord cannot see his face. He's on the ground, slouched against the wall, and every single nerve in Fjord’s body is _screaming_ at him to move, so, before he can even be cognizant of his legs moving, he’s kneeling beside Caduceus, pulling him bodily across his lap, cradling his head in the crook of his arm.

“Caduceus, oh gods, oh _Melora_ , _please_ .” His vision is beading with rapidly falling tears, even as he drains every ounce of his healing capabilities into Caduceus. “ _Please_ , _Mother_ , please let him not be-“

A shuddering breath releases with a _blessed_ rise and fall of Caduceus’ chest and he hangs his head in automatic response, letting out a wretched sob. He starts to smile through the tears when, suddenly, Caduceus seizes in his arms, and lets out a terrible, hacking cough, wet and thick and unlike anything Fjord has _ever_ heard before. It’s on instinct alone that he shifts Caduceus in his arms, so that whatever it is, he won’t choke, and watches as a mess of thick, bright red blood and…petals? hit the floor, flecks of blood splattering out across the sleeve of his tunic. Fjord could care less, concerned as he is. He’s never, in all his life, seen or heard of anything like this, and sailors are full of all sorts of wild and mysterious stories.

When the coughing subsides, Caduceus hardly sounds better for the pile of petals he’s expelled, and, nervously tentative, Fjord turns him back over in his arms, resting Caduceus’ head against his shoulder. They’re back to back, the way Fjord has situated him, and he struggles a little to shift back to that he can lean his own body up against the wall to better support him.

“Caduceus, please say you can hear me. Please, I don’t know what this is. I don’t…I’m not…Please tell me you know what this is. That you can tell me how to fix it. Because I’m at a loss here. You’re the healer, and I’m just…Oh, gods, _please._ ”

Another cough – gentler this time, but still horrible to hear – and Caduceus shifts, his eyes flicker open, unfocused, glazed with pain. His lips move, but he’s not saying anything, not really. Once, twice, he blinks, and Fjord can actually see it when he realizes who is there with him, who is holding him, because a look of complete and utter peace falls over him, and his blood stained lips curve into a weak smile.

“Fjord.”

It’s tremulous and soft, but it’s Caduceus’s same deep rumble and it’s the most beautiful sound Fjord has ever heard in his entire life. “Hullo,” Fjord says back, and he sounds almost as awful as Caduceus, the thought of which makes him laugh a little hysterically. “Hey. It’s me. It’s me, Caduceus.”

“Fjord,” he murmurs again, eyes flickering slowly shut.

“No, no, no, none of that now,” Fjord chastens, without any real passion. “Look at me, come on then, eyes open.” Caduceus obeys, but it’s a near thing, Fjord can tell. “Hey there. You have to tell me. You have to tell me what’s wrong. How to fix it. Melora, She led me here, to you. There has to be something, something I can do?” He bites his lip viciously, and focuses on Caduceus, only to notice that he’s crying now too, silently. “None of that now. Everything is going to be alright. You just have to, to…to stay with me, alright?” _Please_.

His heart is _screaming_.

“Nothing…” Caduceus manages. “to be done.” The resignation in his voice is almost more than Fjord can stand.

“There _has_ to be. She _wouldn’t_ , She would _not_ have led me here if there was nothing to be done. I refuse to believe, after _everything_ that She would just…I can’t-“ It’s his turn to choke on his words, mangled as they are by the emotion that congeals thick in his throat, mockingly.

“Sorry,” Caduceus’ voice is a wisp, a flutter of air. Unapologetically, Fjord lets out a sob, ducking his head low, their foreheads touching.

“I can’t lose you, Caduceus,” he whispers faintly, shaking as he holds him. “I can’t. Please, please, I can’t lose you again, not now, not ever.” Biting his lip, Fjord pulls back, sliding his arms under Caduceus’ and hefts him up a bit more, curling an arm around his middle to pull him closer. “I _refuse_ to lose you. I refuse to be helpless. I refuse to believe that there is nothing I can do. But...I can’t, I _can’t_ risk you never knowing…” His only consolation is that Caduceus can’t see his face from thing angle. Long strands of limp, pinkish hair are stuck against his cheek, tacky with blood. “I have to tell you, Caduceus. I have to tell you the truth. I was going to tell you that morning, but you…you were already gone, and I-“ he shakes his head. “Caduceus, I should never have let you leave. You…you wouldn’t’ve been here and alone when you got sick, and then we’d be with Jester and she could heal you, if only I’d just _said something_ . Anything at all. And I didn’t. So, I’m going to tell you know.” Caduceus is very still in his arms, almost frighteningly so, but Fjord knows that he hasn’t got any time to waste. “I have done nothing but wish for you since you left. I have done nothing but wish to be with you. Beside you, here with you. All because…because I-I’m in love with you, Caduceus. And I was so sure that you could never, _never_ , have even begun to think about me the same way. You’re – you’re so –“

But he never gets to finish speaking, because in that same moment, Caduceus spasms, bucking up and out of Fjord’s grip with almost brutal trajectory, falling forward on the stone floor, catching himself on weak hands as he begins to cough violently, blood and congealed petals and even whole blossoms – large and pillowy, like peonies - falling in a wet splatter against the stone, again and again and again as Fjord, stupefied with fear, watches on.

Eventually, with a weak shudder, Caduceus collapses to the side, rolling onto his back.

The seconds pass. Fjord doesn’t dare move, nor remove his eyes from the still figure. Then, to his utter relief, Caduceus groans and props himself up tenuously on his elbows, head held weakly. “Fjord.” His voice is still soft, and shaking, but his colour is already improving and it seems less a symptom of weakness or more one of…of…

“What just happened?”

The look that Caduceus gives him is pained. “It’s a lot to explain. But I…I’ve got to tell you.”

For a moment, Fjord forgets what he’d said in those terror-filled moments. “Let me help you up. We should…somewhere more comfortable than here.” He gestures to the stone floor, to the pools of red slowly drying over ruined blossoms. As Fjord makes to stand, Caduceus only nods, letting his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to see Fjord waiting, holding his arm out. “Take my hand.”

The grasp of Caduceus’ hand around his forearm is a blissful feeling, stronger already than Fjord anticipates, and he helps to haul him to his feet, pulling Caduceus in close as he sways a little where he stands. “That’s it, lean into me. Now, point me in the right direction.”

Together, they hobble over to a stone bench – not much more comfortable, but at least they’re away from the awful metallic scent of blood – and Fjord lets Caduceus down onto it slowly, sliding in beside him to help keep him upright.

There is silence again, while Caduceus catches his breath. Fjord considers saying something, but the memory of his confession coming back to him shuts him up effectively.

“You saved me, Fjord,” Caduceus says, voice impossibly low and soft. “You saved my life.”

“I-?” Fjord shakes his head, confused. “I did nothing effective, though? I gave you every last drop of healing I had within me, and it did _nothing_ I could discern.”

“It was your words.” It’s then that Fjord notices Caduceus is blushing, flushed right down to the collar. “Your words saved me.”

“My words?”

“You said that you loved me.”

“Love. I said that I _love_ you.” The words are out before he can stop them, and Fjord takes the initiative, for once, and stands by what he’s said. “I love you. Present tense.” When he looks up at Caduceus, sees the expression of, of – “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t want to tell you like this. It’s-“

“No, Fjord.” Caduceus takes his hand in his larger one. “Thank you. For telling me how you feel. I’m alive right now because of it. Because of you.”

“But how could that confession possibly have saved you from dying?”

Caduceus’ hold on his hand is gentle, soft. With a squeeze, he brings Fjord’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them in a barely there skimming touch. “There is an ailment of the body…it can afflict anyone, but Melora’s followers know it better than most. It was taught that She originated it as a curse. Most…most don’t die, of course.”

“But you were going to!” Fjord fairly shouts, suddenly angry with the Mother who had lead him there. “How could Melora let you die?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Fjord.” Caduceus bites his lip. “It was me. Not Melora. The only people who fall into this curse bring it on themselves. I did this to myself. I could’ve stopped it, but I didn’t. Don’t blame Her. When I’m finished, then you can say whatever you want. When I’m finished, if you want, you can leave. I won’t die, anymore regardless.”

It takes all Fjord has not to utter words of protest, but he lets Caduceus continue.

“The day I left, that was the first time it happened. I denied myself…I denied you, in leaving without, without telling you how I felt first. That I love you, more than I ever thought I could love anybody. I never, uh, never really felt that way about _anyone_ , and then, before I even realized it, I felt…well, it doesn’t really matter anymore. I love you, Fjord, and I have for a while. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position. I was leaving and you…you needed to go on with the rest. They needed you.”

“Evidently not more than you did, Caduceus,” Fjord shoots back, unable to help himself any longer, despite – or perhaps because of – the growing dread coalescing in his chest. “Are you…correct me if I’ve misunderstood – you were _dying_ of…of _love_? For me?”

“Yes.” The word is softer even than all the rest.

“And you left so that I wouldn’t have to – to choose? Then all this…all of this is because of me. This is _my fault_ , oh _Mother,_ fuck, Caduceus I-“

“No!” Caduceus silences him with the urgency of his voice. “No, you’re not at fault, Fjord. I am. I should have said something. I could have said something, lots of times. And I just didn’t. I didn’t because I didn’t think that-“

“That I would love you back? Whatever would have given you the impression that-“

“No, Fjord.” Caduceus lets go of his hand, pulls away. “My whole life. Everything I am, it’s dedicated to the Mother. You were…a _job_ , I guess. I brought you to her, and even if it hadn’t been her, I still was helping you. Part of my calling. A vocation, I guess you could say. I’m not _meant_ for more.”

“Like _hell_ you aren’t.” Fjord puts a hand to his shoulder, pulling him back around. Just hearing the words from out Caduceus’ mouth is enough to make him furious. “You’re meant for everything the world has to offer. Melora _loves_ you. It’s because of her that I even came here in time to save you. She wants you to be alive! And I’m _sure_ she wants you to be happy. And quite frankly, she’s been looking out for me a lot and I’m pretty positive that she’d be rather supportive of whatever brings _me_ happiness as well, and that…that has not been an easy road, if I’m going to tell the truth. Determining what I want and then going for it. Well the hell with that. I want _you_ , Caduceus. And if that means you, here, and me, out there in the world, but always, _always_ , coming back to you, well, then, that is what I want. Because I want you, no matter what it entails, do you understand?”

Dumbfounded, Caduceus only stares back at him, so Fjord does the only logical thing he can. He leans forward, reaches his hands up to Caduceus’ face and kisses him. The curtain of hair that falls around him is silken, and the touch of their lips is contrastingly rough, despite the tentative nature of Caduceus’ response, but it’s more than Fjord has dreamed of in so, _so_ long. It’s _everything_ he’s wanted and he surges up, getting in closer, sliding a hand back, letting his fingers card back against Caduceus’ skull as they move against one another.

It feels euphoric. Breathless. Like the first inklings of summer in the late spring. A renewal that wells up in Fjord’s heart to bursting.

When he breaks the kiss, they’re both breathing heavily, still so near that they are sharing the very breaths of life.

“Don’t shut me out,” he dares to whisper. “You and I…Melora brought us together. You said so yourself. This is what we’re meant for, Caduceus. This. Love. This is for us. Please, let yourself have it. Don’t force either of us to suffer any more.”

A misty look hangs in Caduceus’ eyes and his smile – if something so weak could be called as such – doesn’t widen, but he nods in earnest. “I won’t, Fjord. I promise. I won’t.”

“Oh thank _gods_.”

And, promptly, as if he might never be given another chance, Fjord drew Caduceus down to kiss him again.


End file.
